Undercover, With a Little Tongue
by lookslikeajobforthewinchesters
Summary: Peter and Neal have to go undercover at a gay strip club. Unfortunately for Neal, a there are a lot of people out there who recognize his face and drastic measures must be taken to hide it. Awkward hilarity ensues. (Neal/Peter kissing for the purpose of the undercover op)


Peter Burke had been in some wildly dangerous situations while undercover. He'd been in situations where even his quickest thinking wasn't quite quick enough (when someone says 'duck!', don't look around to see why, just fucking _duck_). He'd been in situations where he'd thought he been about to witness the end of New York (a dirty bomb in a delivery van wasn't the classiest of mass destruction attempts, but certainly effective). He'd been in situations where embarrassment was the champion emotion (posing as a nude model for a master forger's art class wasn't high on his That Would Be Fun to Do Again list).

He had never, ever been in a situation in which he thought he might physically choke on the awkwardness.

The 'awkwardness', in this particular case, being Neal Caffrey's tongue.

It started two weeks ago when Hughes had plopped a thick file on his desk and said "You're working on this now. Nothing else until it's done." Peter had flipped it open, skimmed the summary page, and laughed his ass off as silently as possible. God, Neal was going to _love_ the undercover challenge this one would bring. He collected Diana, Jones, Neal, and a couple of probies and sent them all to the conference room.

"Alright, agents and Neal, we've got a case," Peter announced. Neal perked up happily because Peter had been feeding him a steady diet of mortgage fraud and magazine sweepstakes. All cold cases, just because Neal whined like a little girl and it was funny. "Counterfeit money! And guess where it's coming from?"

"Well, this is a White Collar case," Neal said excitedly. "So they must be using a business as a front. It's not Organized Crime, so we can rule out mob, mafia, and the Asian gangs that have been popping up. A single, legitimate business?"

"Alright, Harvard Drones," Peter chuckled. Jones and several probies glared. Diana smirked – Columbia had paid off for her in the sense that Peter didn't poke fun at her for it. "Our untrained, badge-less consultant has nailed it in thirty seconds."

"Counterfeit money is easiest to make if you can bleach out smaller bills and use them to reprint greater denominations on," Neal said thoughtfully. "That way, you can avoid having to age the bills and steal the paper. So we're looking for a business that deals primarily in small denominations of bills."

Peter waited for Neal to catch on. There were a few silent moments before Neal's eyes brightened and he sat up straighter in his chair.

"Peter, are we going to a strip club?"

"Why, yes, Neal," Peter said brightly. "We _are_ going to a strip club."

"Are we going undercover?"

"Well, of course," Peter grinned. "You and I are going. Granted, I don't really need to go, but if the Bureau thinks I'm going to pass up a chance to see Neal Caffrey attempt a role as a stripper, they are sadly mistaken."

"Hey!" Neal protested. His face lost all excitement and he simply looked horrified. He turned the most interesting shade of purple. "I'm not going under as a stripper! I'm a _guy_!"

"Oh, Neal, it's a gay strip club," Peter grinned. "And you're the only one of us who can do a convincing stripper act."

"I – what – I'm not a stripper!"

"You will be," Diana giggled. "As soon as you get some lessons and tiny underwear."

"Peter!" Neal whined, crossing his arms like he was five years old. Jones was howling with laughter and Diana wasn't doing much better. The poor probies looked torn between filing a harassment complaint on Neal's behalf and giggling like teenage girls. "Are you really going to make me a stripper?"

"No, Neal, of course not," Peter snorted. "But it was worth it to see your face."

Neal sat there looking like a fish for a few moments, mouth opening and closing in astonishment.

"Did Peter Burke just pull a con on me?" he asked in a small, ashamed voice. That sent jones and Diana into hysterics once again. "Peter, I'm…I'm…"

"Embarrassed? Horrified? Ashamed?"

"Proud," Neal grinned his classic con grin. "So very proud. The student has surpassed the…well, the student has learned a lot and is no longer completely hopeless."

"Thank you."

"So, boss," Diana asked. "How exactly are we going to gain access?"

"Well, Neal really is going in," Peter said. Neal made a suspicious face. "But not as a stripper. He's going in as Neal Caffrey, master forger and general con extraordinaire."

Neal sat up a little straighter, grin fixed firmly in place.

"And I'm going in as his 'partner'," Peter said grudgingly. "Seeing as Neal has to have a reason for winding up at that club in the first place…he needs a cover."

"When you say 'partner'…" Jones asked, one eyebrow raised. Peter sighed.

"I don't mean business partner," Peter shook his head, a little uncomfortable. "Everyone, I'd like you to meet Peter Shanley, Neal Caffrey's devoted yet adventurous boyfriend!"

There was silence around the conference room table.

"No," Neal said firmly. "Peter, you already control where I go and who I see with this anklet anklet, I am not going to be your boyfriend."

"I could send Jones in with you," Peter offered. "But just remember, they're probably going to ask you a lot of questions. About _us_. Don't you think it's best that we actually have answers?"

"There is no 'us'!"

Diana snorted into her coffee. When Neal turned to glare at her, she attempted to look innocent.

"What was that about?" Neal demanded. Diana shrugged with amusement.

"Seriously? You guys have the most adorable bromance on the planet," she told him. "Honestly, if Peter wasn't married to the most epic woman alive and you weren't the biggest ladies' man around, I would totally buy you guys as a couple."

"That's –"

"I can see it," Jones agreed, squinting between Peter and Neal. "Yeah, you guy would be damn adorable."

Neal looked at a loss for words. He turned to glare at Peter.

"Fine," he huffed. "But if we're going to do this, you better be prepared."

"Prepared how?"

"I don't break character, Peter," Neal said with a wicked glint in his eye. Peter sensed his payback for making Neal think he was about to become a gay stripper was right around the corner. "Meaning that from now until the minute we come out from undercover, you are officially my boyfriend."

"Oh, God," Peter rolled his eyes. "You don't have the stones."

"Shouldn't have said that, boss," Diana said casually, sipping at her coffee. Peter had just enough time to register her warning before Neal grabbed his ass and squeezed.

"Neal!"

"Never break character, hon," Neal winked. He pressed a kiss to Peter's cheek before heading for the door. "Well, come on, sweetie, it's lunchtime. We _always_ go for lunch together."

"I'm going to regret this," Peter muttered. Jones and Diana murmured their agreement as Neal dragged Peter out of the conference room by the hand.

Neal spent the next two weeks playing the part of Peter's boyfriend to the point of ridiculousness. He brought Peter breakfast from The Greatest Cake. He kissed his cheek at every possible opportunity. He rubbed Peter's shoulders when he got stressed. He held Peter's hand everywhere they went together. If it wasn't so amusing to the rest of the team, Peter might have smacked him upside the head for being so annoying – except…it was sort of fun to be on the receiving end of Neal Caffrey's charm. Maybe Neal was sickeningly romantic, forward to the point of indecency, and a little bit clingy, but it was an excellent source of entertainment to have it directed at Peter. So when Neal sent him flowers the day before they went undercover, Peter just rolled his eyes and tried to fend off the jokes his team made. Peter was no hard-ass, so he faced being the brunt of his subordinates' jokes on a daily basis. He never really felt like they disrespected him – he knew that the moment they did, all fun and games would come to an end. They knew it, too.

Peter and Neal were now nursing drinks at the bar of the strip club they were to infiltrate. Peter was horribly awkward at attempting to enjoy the men who were currently tearing off their clothes and shaking their junk onstage. Neal, however, was doing a spectacular job of appearing the right combination of entertain, aroused, and tipsy. He caught Peter's gaze and flashed him a look that Peter had never expected to see directed at him – from El, maybe, but definitely not from Neal.

Neal leaned into Peter and made like he was kissing Peter's neck. Instead, he whispered, "This is fun."

"You would find it in yourself to enjoy this, wouldn't you?" Peter whispered back. Neal's breath on his neck was making him squirm awkwardly. Peter glanced around the club in front of him, currently filled with patrons and strippers. Nothing suspicious yet. Then, suddenly, Neal was practically in his lap, sliding off his barstool to stand on the rungs of Peter's. All it would take was one small squat and Neal would be straddling Peter's left knee. "Neal –! What are you doing?"

Neal buried his face in Peter's neck, lips sucking and tongue swirling. Peter resisted the urge to squirm away or possibly punch Neal in the stomach because, clearly, Neal had a plan. Or was using this opportunity to develop one. His suspicions were confirmed when Neal started to breathe out words against his neck when he came up for air.

"Peter," he whispered in a tone that made Peter think – just for a moment – that this was _doing_ _something_ for Neal. Then he remembered – Neal was a damn good actor. "I think I've been made."

"What?"

Neal nibbled along Peter's jaw. He sat down on Peter's leg and ran his hands up Peter's chest. He started to slide backwards and Peter made a desperate grab at Neal's waist, effectively pulling his partner flush against him. Neal hummed with pride.

"You're getting better at this," he whispered against Peter's throat. "There's a man here…" – kisses against Peter's throat – "I've worked with him before" – a hand in Peter's hair – "I think he might see me…"

"Well, if he knows you're a forger…"

"No," Neal hissed into Peter's ear. "We pulled a sting on him two years ago. He knows I'm with the FBI."

"Oh, no – Neal –"

"I need to hide. He's coming this way."

"Think of something to –"

But Neal cut him off by sticking his tongue down Peter's throat. He kissed Peter with a force that nearly toppled them both off the small barstool. His hands got a little eager and Peter found himself with an armful of Neal Caffrey and nowhere to go. So he settled for following Neal's lead and put all his focus into making this look like an impassioned make-out session between two lovers. He grabbed Neal's ass to avoid having his partner fall ass-first onto the floor and Neal put forth a valiant effort to suck Peter's face off.

"Can I get a beer?" a voice to Peter's right asked the bartender.

"Anything in particular?" the bartender asked.

"Whatever's on tap," the voice replied. A few moments and a lot of heavy petting later, the man walked away with a beer in hand. Neal finally came up for air, gasping a little and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"That was close," he gasped, still struggling for air. Peter nodded, looking after the man as he walked away. "Peter?"

"What?"

"You can let go of my ass now."

Peter nearly dropped Neal like a hot potato when he realized he was still clutching his CI's ass in his hands.

"Shit, sorry," Peter muttered, turning pink. Neal chuckled and shrugged like it was no big deal.

"It's a fairly spectacular ass," he said easily. "I don't blame you for trying to steal it."

"Neal!"

"Kidding, Peter," he rolled his eyes. "You really are awkward about this, aren't you?"

"I just made out with my CI!"

"For the purposes of upholding the law," Neal said with a wink. "Don't tell me it was _that_ bad. I've been told I have considerable skill at barstool trysts."

"It's not _you_," Peter huffed. "It's your _gender_."

"Oh, Peter," Neal sighed with thickly sarcastic woe. "Our love may be a forbidden fire, but it burns bright all the same."

"Shut up."

They left the strip club as quickly as possible after the incident with Neal's cover nearly being blown. They would have to come back another time when there was no one to recognize them and no one to force Neal into making rash decisions on how best to conceal his identity.

As they exited the club, Peter muttered, "Jones, we had to back out. Someone almost made Neal" into his watch and his earbud sounded Jones' voice saying, "No problem, Peter."

As soon as that was covered, Peter turned to Neal.

"We're good?" he asked tentatively. After all, it wasn't often he made out with coworkers in a strip club. Undercover or not, there was the potential for great amounts of awkwardness in the office. He was relieved when Neal grinned, wide and teasing.

"A little kissing between friends is nothing to get worried about, Peter," Neal said smoothly, running a hand through his hair to flatten it back to its pre-make-out style. "We're good."

"Good."

"Good."

They walked in silence back to the car. Then they drove in silence back to Peter's place. El had decided that Neal and Peter would have to tell her all about their adventures at a gay male strip club and therefore Neal was coming over for wine and a full disclosure report of the evening.

The silence was decidedly awkward in the car. As they pulled up to the house, Peter groaned.

"You realize we're going to have to tell El about this, right?"

"Oh, no. Peter she'll never let us live this down!"

The moment they entered the house and El came into the living room to greet them, she stopped and stared at them both. She took one look at the hickeys on Peter's neck and Neal's swollen, bruised lips and started to giggle.

"You guys totally made out at the club, didn't you?"

"El!" Peter whined. Neal smirked. El laughed uncontrollably.

"What I wouldn't give to have been a fly on the wall of that place tonight!"

"Well, don't hold your breath because it's never happening again!"

"Peter, you hurt my feelings!" Neal teased. El collapsed onto the couch in a fit of giggles. Neal was nearly fit to join her there if the look on his face was any indication. He was clearly enjoying how much the situation made Peter uncomfortable.

Peter sighed and went to get the wine. At least he didn't have to worry about Neal developing irrational, Stockholm Syndrome-ridden feelings for him.


End file.
